


Om-nom-nom-nom

by LaurelSilver



Series: Victimised [4]
Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Blood, Burgers - Freeform, Cannibalism, Captive, Gen, Gore, Oral Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 04:39:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14229453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurelSilver/pseuds/LaurelSilver
Summary: "What are hamburgers? Om-nom-nom-nom!"Da Kurlzz, Hamburger Helper (fanmade song)In which Matty is mouthy





	Om-nom-nom-nom

**Author's Note:**

> This snuff story stars:  
> Matty Busek (Da Kurlzz)  
> Victim (AKA 'Honey') is anyone you want it to be. The only requirements are that they have no major/immediate allergies to the common ingredients in a burger, and are not ambidextrous (or if they are they are they have a favoured side). Beyond that they can be anyone you hate. Call it catharsis. Gender doesn't matter, Victim is referred to as 'it'.
> 
> Just to be very clear;  
> 1\. I have not done, nor do I have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fiction.  
> 2\. I don't think Mattyhas done, or has any intention of doing, anything described in this fic.  
> 3\. I do not encourage or condone anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fic. Recreating this fic, or anything similar, is illegal and immoral and very fucked up.  
> 4\. You are not obliged to read, finish reading if you start, or comment/kudos if you finish. There is no story here. It just mindless violence for no real reason.  
> 5\. Victim having any similarities to anyone real or fictional is unintentional.
> 
> Reiterated warnings: this fic contains **cannibalism** and **sexual themes** including **non-con.** This includes the end notes.

Victim lay there on the floor, remaining hand clinging to the cold pipe by its head. The smell of onions filled the room, and Victim’s bruised stomach growled. Matty’s spatula scraped against the bottom of the frying pan. Cupboards opened and closed, and Victim groaned.

Matty walked over, footsteps almost teasing. Victim wriggled, kicking its lost legs uselessly. Matty crouched in front of it, familiar device clenched in his pale hand.

“You hungry, honey?” he said, rubbing Victim’s hair.

Victim shook its head.

“But we gotta eat, honey. You don’t want to go hungry, do you?”

Victim half-nodded. Matty either didn’t notice or pretended he didn’t. He put the device down.

It was a rusty old thing, a large box with a crank in one side and a funnel in the other, and Matty keeps a red-stained bowl under the funnel to catch his gory treat. A second, much wider funnel stretched out the top of the box, broad enough to fit a human leg up to the mid-thigh. Victim knew that, as that was where its legs and stronger arm had gone.

Matty set his bowl under the smaller funnel of the meat grinder. Victim whimpered and folded its remaining arm under its body. Matty pulled it out again, and Victim was dragged after its last limb. He guided its hand to the larger funnel as it struggled weakly, starved too long to fight back.

Victim’s fingertips brushed the thick auger insider, the curved edge sharp and dense. It clenched its fist and tried to pull away again. Matty forced it down until its knuckles were pressed into the auger’s edge. Victim howled, incoherent and tongueless.

Matty shushed it and kissed it on the crown. He turned the crank, and the auger turned with it. The bladed edge bit into Victim’s skin and tore through, gouging the flesh away from the muscle, then muscle away from bone, then into the bone as the drill-bit spun. Blood dribbled from the lower funnel, thick and red, into the dyed bowl below.

Victim screamed. The pain pulsed like a double-time drum in its fist.

The grinder hacked on Victim’s knuckles, the metal choking on the thicker pieces of bone. Matty grunted, rattling the handle with effort until it crunched through. Victim screamed, it’s concaved hand sending a fresh flash of familiar agony up its arm.

Matty cranked faster, the thin bones of the hand splintering and shredding in the metal tooth. Victim sobbed, its blood splattering out like a burst pipe, up its arms and body, up Matty’s face and clothes, up the wall to the ceiling, re-covering old rust-like stains. Matty’s grip on Victim’s arm would slip on the wet blood, and Victim would pull away only to be dragged straight back onto the twisting metal bit.

Thick red dribbled from the lower funnel, raw and gory. Splinters of white sat in the mangled mince, fragments pale and brittle. It slopped into the bowl and sat there, lifeless.

Victim wrenched itself away and Matty let it. It waved its stump, mangled away to the elbow. Its shorter stumps waved with their newly compacted companion, and Victim fell heavily onto its back with a howl. Blood pumped from the limb. Victim was unable to clutch at it like it used to, the blood flowing freely.

Matty picked up the bowl and carried it back to the counter. He picked up the smoking skillet and carried it carefully to Victim. Hot oil bubbled and squeaked in the iron pan. Matty crouched by Victim and balanced the pan on the pipe. He grabbed Victim by the neck, forced them to sit upright, and seized their draining arm. He pressed the open flesh into the oil.

The oil sizzled into the flesh and Victim screamed. The smell of burnt bacon surrounded them both, and Matty grinned in bliss.  Victim snatched its limb back. The pain sat in the black crust, a hot throbbing circle.

Matty kissed it on the forehead and stood, and took the skillet back to the stove. It sizzled softly as Matty put it over the lit ring. He came back over to Victim and picked the bowl up again. Matty mixed through the mince with his fingers, picking out lumps of bone as he went. He flicked the splinters into the corner with the rest, a tinkering pile of flint.

Victim wriggled. The pain still burned in its elbow, thick and seeming to swell. It lay there, unable to do move, speak, anything more complicated than a snore-like groan every time it breathes. Matty scooped Victim up and settled it on his hip as he carried it across to the kitchenette. Victim struggled uselessly, kicking with its thigh-stumps, only managing to squeeze Matty’s thin waist.

“You’re so light these days,” Matty said, carrying Victim back to the counter, “You need to eat more.”

Victim sobbed at him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to cook plenty for you. You love my cooking, don’t you?” Matty tapped the bowl against its thigh-stump.

Victim nodded quickly.

“You’re so sweet,” Matty kissed Victim on the forehead again.

Matty set Victim down on counter between the stove top and his board. He kissed its cheek and stepped across to his board. He ran his fingers through the dense mince, picking out more splinters. He flicked a couple more lumps of bone and gristle away. He put the bowl down and washed his hands at the sink.

Matty dumped the onions, breadcrumbs and a big scoop of the meat into a smaller bowl. He started humming, a tune he hummed often when he cooked, as he mixed in seasoning and an egg. The mix slopped in the bowl as he stirred it with a wooden spoon. He added another handful of breadcrumbs and the mixture thickened.

Victim sighed. The stump of its tongue, not even an inch long, circled its palate at random, unable to reach anything. Drool would settle in its gum-line and dribble out when Victim leant forwards or choke it when it leant back.

Matty plucked a lump of mince out of the mix and shaped it in his hands. He stepped across, kissed Victim on the nose, stepped across again, and laid the patty in the pan. It sizzled and smoked, and Matty stepped back as the oil popped at him. He pouted, and stepped back to his bowl.

Shape, step, kiss, step, skillet. A practised routine.

Matty covered the bowl and the remaining meat in cling-film and put it in the fridge. “That should last us a few more days. I’m thinking lasagne. I haven’t made fresh pasta in a while—I don’t think you’ve had my pasta, have you honey?”

Victim shook its head.

“You’re in for a treat,” he pinched its cheek, “I’ll make you some tomorrow, wouldn’t you like that?”

Victim nodded. Matty grinned and kissed it on the lips. Victim couldn’t taste him anymore, but the ghost of blood and tobacco tar sat on a phantom tongue.

Matty pressed a spatula to each burger and they sizzled. The smell of pork filled the room, air heavy with smoke. Matty flipped them, the underside charred, and pressed down on them again. The dense meat sizzled and smoked.

Matty stepped back across, kissed Victim on the nose, and stepped back to his board. He wiped it quickly, and opened the fridge beneath.

“It’s been too long since I made burgers,” he said. He pulled tomatoes, lettuce and cheese from the fridge, and a middle-sized knife from the block. “I haven’t made burgers with you before, have I?”

Victim shook its head.

“What have we had, honey?”

Victim moaned.

“That’s right,” Matty traced the knife along Victim’s cheek, “Tongue,” Down to its stronger arm, “Chilli,” Stronger leg, “Goulash and nachos,” Weaker leg, “And sausages and koftas.”

Victim whimpered and wriggled. The tip of the blade nicked its inner thigh-stump and it flinched away. Matty dropped the knife and pressed his thumb to the little cut.

“There isn’t much of you left, honey,” he said. He looked Victim hard in the eye, his thumb and fingers digging into its flesh, “Once this goes, we’ll be almost out. Next its the eyes. Then little pieces from your hips, and up. I don’t know how much longer you’ll last once I start on your hips.”

Victim groaned.

“It’s a matter of weeks now, honey. Maybe less.”

Victim moaned and sobbed. Matty cupped its face, smearing its blood across its chin, and pulled it down to a kiss.

“You’ve been so good, honey. You’ve lasted so well. You’ve tasted so good. I’m glad I’ve had you.”

Victim choked. Frightened tears welled and Matty kissed them away, fingers combing through its hair. The pan sizzled and spat next to them.

Matty pulled away, kissed it on the nose, and picked his knife back up. He sliced through the tomatoes, humming again.

Time passed like watched kettle. Matty sliced garnishes, toasted buns, flipped the burgers a few more times, pausing only to kiss and nuzzle Victim gently. Victim cried until its eyes itched then watched Matty wander back and forth with his knife and nuzzles.

The toaster popped and Victim jumped at the noise. Matty chuckled, kissed its jaw a few more times and took a plate down from the cupboard.

“Hungry, honey?”

Victim nodded mechanically.

Matty took the buns out and loaded them up. He spread condiments on thick, home made salsa and a pale French mustard. The burgers were only a little larger than the buns, one crumbling as he pressed the tops down.

Matty picked Victim up and settled it on his hip again, and picked up the plate. He carried it and the food to the sofa and sat down, Victim pulled into his lap, plate on the empty cushion next to him. He picked on burger up and took a large bite, and held the sandwich up to Victim’s face.

Victim leant down and took a small bite. The toasted bread and salad crunched between its teeth, and the condiments dripped into its wet lower palate. The dense meat collapsed, slightly burnt on the edges.

Victim tossed its head side to side, not enough tongue left to churn the food. It softened, the tomato disintegrated, the bread and lettuce needed much more chewing before it could safely swallow. The meat was cooked through, a little porkish on the remaining tongue.

Matty took another big bite and held the burger up. Victim swallowed hard and took another small bite, mustard smeared on its upper lip. It opened its mouth to lick it away, stub forgotten for a second, and the tomato dropped from its mouth and landed on Matty’s shirt.

Matty stopped chewing and looked down. Victim froze, mouth clamped shut. Matty picked the piece up, popped it in his mouth and ate it like nothing had happened.

Victim shuddered a sigh, and chewed the rest carefully. Matty shoved the burger in its face again and it swallowed, and the unsoftened lumps seemed to scrape down its dry throat. It choked and took another bite quickly, biting off more than it wanted to.

Matty and Victim ate the burger between them, Matty eating the most. Victim cried, tears flowing free, and its arm seemed to burn and twitch at random with phantom pains. Matty pulled Victim close, resting its head on his chest and stroking its hair and cooing and shushing. Victim sniffled, tears, snot, and condiments clinging to Matty’s shirt. Matty continued to stroke, long combing motions, other hand rubbing gentle circles into its thigh.

Matty lifted and lowered Victim, laying it down on the sofa. He shoved the plate out of the way and it clattered to the floor and broke in half. Victim yelped. Matty kissed it, his hands trailing down its body, then his mouth, leaving kisses and soft bites down its chest and stomach. Victim whimpered, waving its arms, lost hands scrabbling to shove him away.

Matty’s mouth nipped down, and his lips closed on its crotch. He sucked on the sensitive skin and Victim sobbed a moan as pleasure burned into its stomach. His tongue circled, then ran up and down and circled again. And again. And again, his favourite pattern.

Victim groaned and choked, desperate to stay silent. Matty wrapped his arms around its remaining thighs, forcing it to spread its legs further as he licked and suckled and kissed sloppily. Victim’s crotch was slick with saliva and its own unwanted fluids.

Matty pressed his mouth hard into Victim’s crotch and hummed. Victim screamed as its orgasm shook through it, its stumps trembling, its head thrown back, jaw dropped and eyes rolled.

Matty pulled away as it continued to shake and whine. He crawled over it, pinning it under his body. He kissed it hard and forced his tongue into its mouth. He traced its teeth and palates and remaining tongue. Victim whined and choked, not daring bite at him. It had learnt fast not to bite him.

Victim whimpered as Matty pulled away, saliva dripping from his smile.

“I’m so glad I have you.”

Victim choked. The bitter taste of flesh and itself clung to its disabled mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> You have no idea how difficult it is to write about someone recieving oral without describing their genitals.
> 
> I got the basic burger recipe from ['my recipes'.](http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/classic-burger) I also had to look up the components of a meat grinder. I keep getting butcher ads on my phone now.  
> No I didn't look up what humans taste like, I didn't want that kind of thing in my ads. A friend of mine told me a while ago that humans taste porkish according to something she read, so I went with that.  
> English mustard is better than French, always. And I don't just say that because I'm British, its because its truth. Matty uses French here because he's proudly half French.  
> I'll let you decide what he's humming. For me, its Hamburger Helper, but it could be some of his solo work. Or something else entirely. Like Try The Priest.
> 
> I originally planned to have Matty talk about previous Victims (Beefy, Bean, Jelly, Angel-cake and Jerky) and how long they lasted, and have more references to Victim's past, then have Victim turn out to be Dylan (and the Victims be Johnny, Charlie, J-Dog, Danny and Deuce respectively). But I'm trying to quit letting ideas get away with me so I just stuck to this. Shorter, simpler, and doesn't rip a hole in the whole theme of Victimised.
> 
> I know it's not even been 2 weeks since the last one, but I am Stressed™. Also I kinda wanted to write this for April Fools then realised I can't really make gore like this funny. But I wrote it anyway, because I'm going to struggle to write a Da Kurlzz fic otherwise. Until he releases his solo work, that is.  
> Go listen to some happy music, that'll make you feel better.


End file.
